Thursday, 9th of February

So last night I met up with Julie. My intention was just to have a fun time, relax in each other’s company, have a laugh. I wanted to really get to know this girl. On Saturday she’d told me her doubts but I wanted to convince her that I don’t see her as a rebound; she is much more than just a shag. I wanted to make it clear that she is someone I really like, a fun person to be around – gorgeous in her glasses (I’ve always had a fondness for girls in thick-rimmed specs). She’s different to Alison, more open than her, more approachable. In short she’s someone I really want to be with.
And so yesterday evening I was not going to think about Alison or any stupid lists Louise had asked me to do. I was just going to concentrate on having a good time.

Unfortunately it didn’t quite work out like that.

For a start Julie was twenty minutes late. Previously she’d always shown up on time (and more than that, had boasted of her punctuality). Last night she was tardy and I found myself sat in the bar just off Cannon Street checking my phone compulsively, wondering if I was going to get a message explaining just what the hell was going on. None came, but it was just as I was getting worried that Julie arrived.

This Julie though was different to the girl I’d met previously. When she finally got there it looked as if she had been crying. Her normal smiley and happy face was disturbingly absent, and instead there was a woman who seemed hunched and somewhat fed up with her life. Immediately I asked her what was wrong but she didn’t engage, just shrugging off my queries with a curt: “Nothing”.

I went to the bar and got her a wine, in the hope of loosening her up.

Unfortunately it did.

She downed half of it in one go, and then glared at me meanly. This is the downside of her type of spectacles – they’re cute, but the eyes are magnified by the lenses so any kind of stink-eye takes much greater force.

“I thought you said you hadn’t seen Alison?”

That was an accusation not a question.

“I haven’t,” I told her.

“Then how does she know about us?”

In an instant I could see what happened. I hadn’t mentioned my strange phone-call because I thought it would be easier not to, but clearly she’d had contact as well.

Perhaps she saw the realisation on my face, as she charged on.

“I had an email from her, she wished us all the best,” the words were spat with venom.

There was a moment’s hesitation and then I talked as fast as I could.  “She did call me, but she said the same thing to me as she did to you. I’ve no idea how she knows though - honestly.”

“Oh come on. how else could she know unless you told her? It’s not like we have anyone else in common.”

With a look of disdain she got up from the table. “I hate fucking liars, I just want to know that.”

“Wait, Alison!” I called.

And then sat back with the sickening realisation of what I’d said.

Julie turned to me with one look of disdain and charged from the pub.

I knew it was pointless to follow her.

On the way home I kicked a brick wall. I think I’ve broken the little toe on my left foot. It’s not the worst thing that happened to me last night.